


Owned

by SenkoWakimarin



Series: In Times of War [1]
Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, M/M, Rough Sex, The Universe where Nathan Is War, Torture, War!Nathan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 02:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15133106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: War punishes Wade.





	Owned

Securing the chains to the cuffs on Wade’s wrists, War hauls the unconscious body up, suspending him before locking shackles around his ankles as well, holding his legs apart. Once he’s satisfied with the arrangement, he hauls back and slaps Wade hard across the face, once, twice, until he groans and starts to stir.

Wade, naked and bound, takes a moment to fully appreciate his position. War lets him take his time, lets him come to, testing the chains in a half-assed pull up, stretching his legs until his knees audibly pop. Wide white eyes finally blink open, taking in the room with a halfhearted sigh.

“Very sex-dungeon-esque. Am I supposed to be scared, Nate?”

After all this time, Wade still calls him that. It’s stupid and endearing all at once.

He doesn’t say a word, just meets Wade’s eyes and blows his brain out with a thought, leaving him to regenerate while he watches. He knows it hurts and that Wade hates being caught off guard but he’s angry now, angry and Wade deserves to be punished.

Blood, bone, and brain paint wall behind Wade, and he takes several long minutes to come back, dripping on the hard stone floor. War could unmake Wade in any way he saw fit, and Wade, desperate for his affections, would come back begging for more.

Once, when he’d been another man, a weaker man, he’d loved Wade.

In his own way, he still did; loved him and wanted him safe and kept and all his own. But it was easy to hate him, too; his arrogance and selfishness and constant cries for attention.

But Wade belonged to him now. And in a way, owning him was better than loving him alone had ever been.

Groaning, Wade comes slowly to, tensing in his bonds. War knows how painful such a position must be, how it pulls and strains at the muscles of the arms and back. He also knows that Wade enjoys the pain.

“That’s not very nice, Nate.”

War smiles thinly, watching blood well in Wade’s open mouth, tearing his tongue out in a brutal use of telekinetic energy. “A punishment isn’t meant to be nice,” he says, flat and cold as Wade struggles not to choke on his own blood. Amazingly, his cock is beginning to swell, and War knows well enough that the frustrated whine Wade makes has little to do with discomfort and much to do with the twisted pleasure he’s learned to find in the agony War visits on him.

He keeps him hard for an hour, torturing him with a series of cuts that heal too fast to give any joy to either of them. The room smells like a butcher shop, cold and coppery, and Wade goes from cursing to begging and back again as quickly as he can suck in a breath to speak. War treasures the sound of his voice, echoing slightly as it does in the sterile room.

After the hour is up, he pulls a lever and watches Wade slowly recline, chains retracting along the way to keep him spread eagle and suspended over the bloody floor.

Taking his time slicking his own cock, he watches Wade twitch and shiver, enjoying the sight. Lesion-riddled skin slicked with blood, Wade gasps and strains at the restraints, his cock almost purple with the stress of being held on edge for so long.

As War finally knocks his knees apart, Wade snaps his hips toward the hand between his legs, shaking as he tries to spread himself open. War doesn’t speed up any, knowing nothing hurts Wade like being kept waiting.

When he finally thrusts into the tight, pliant heat of Wade’s body, he focuses on his TK, stripping the scarred flesh from muscle from bone down Wade’s back. Wade _moans_ , smothering the wet tearing sound of the mutilation, his tone dripping with lust and excitement, audibly delighted over the flesh flaying from his body. As it comes free, the blood and tissue is held by telekinetic force all around them, extending out from Wade in a gory fan.

He’s barely begun fucking Wade before the man is whining over the approach of his orgasm, and War is faced with something of a choice. He likes the idea of denying Wade his relief, of keeping him on edge until he passes out from the stress, but the idea of letting him come from War’s cock alone is equally appealing.

A smile curls his lips, cruel and cold, as Wade tries to hold back, straining against the restrains in a vain attempt to touch himself and relieve the unflagging erection he’s suffered through since he’d really woken up here.

“Please, fuck, _Nate_ ,” he pleads, his body well on the way to regenerating the torn flesh of his back, making his weak flailing that much more wild. “Nate, c’mon, just _touch_ me, I’m, I _need_...”

War doesn’t say anything, or make a move to help Wade with his little problem.

“Ooh, God, Nate, _Christ_ , just –”

“Maybe next time,” War says, ploughing into Wade’s tensed, shivering body, using him harder than strictly necessary just to hear that broken moaning. “Now come for me.”

And Wade, Wade can be so obedient, such a good, good boy; the words barely leave War’s mouth before Wade does exactly as he’s told. He screams in pleasure, hips jerking sharply as he comes between them, and then sags back against his bonds, orgasm taking it’s toll on him, leaving him drooling and moaning as War continues to use him.

Over-sensitized but never sated, Wade’s cock softens and then almost immediately begins to harden again. Tears in his eyes, Wade starts laughing helplessly, trying hard to grind against War’s pistoning hips, managing only a weak sort of twisting in place, eager and desperate.

“Can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” he says, gasping and laughing as he tugs again at the chains keeping him suspended.

“Can’t believe you’d try running away again,” War returns, gripping Wade’s hips with bruising force, holding him still to fuck him slow and thorough, intent on drawing his own pleasure out to the last. “This isn’t for you, Wade. This is a punishment.”

“Fuck you,” Wade says pleasantly, and then groans beautifully at the sensation of the raw muscle and nerve of his back being torn open again. “This? This is _all_ for me. If you were really punishing me, I wouldn’t get _dick_ , pun very much intended; you’d leave me all _alone_ for a few more fuckless days, and if you ever thought for a goddamn _second_ about me anymore, maybe you’d figure out _why_ I keep trying to run away so often.”

War hates the words, but loves the sound of Wade’s voice, the only reason he doesn’t immediately force him to shut up. There’s logic to Wade’s words, a way of looking at his misbehavior that War hadn’t really considered until now, but it’s a twisted, selfish sort of logic, as Wade’s logic always is; it holds a special sort of willful ignorance endemic to Wade’s arguments. Certainly Wade knows that War can’t spend all his time on him, that he has other things to do, work to oversee.

He’s as petulant as a child, and as headstrong, but still War loves him, roughly, violently, endlessly.

“You want my attention?” War growls, digging his fingers hard into Wade’s hips. “Well, you’ve got it.”

“Yeah baby, I’ve got it,” Wade singsongs, and then chokes violently as War ropes a thread of telekinetic energy around his throat, tightening it in time with his thrusts. He doesn’t give Wade space to breathe, to hold on, to focus on anything at all but War and how he’s being used. For the moment, Wade’s world will shrink down to just him and what he’s doing to him.

And Wade _loves it_.

Choking, bloody drool working past his lips again, Wade tries hard to write down against the hands holding him still, intent on riding War as hard as he’s being ridden, on giving as good as he’s getting.

War doesn’t allow him an inch, raking telekinetic nails down his back hard enough that fresh blood splashes in heavy droplets onto the floor. War holds tight to Wade’s hips, fucking him with hard, brutal thrusts that rattle the chains holding him up, choking him tighter and tighter as he approaches his own release.

“C’mon,” Wade mouths, eyes welling with blood and tears as the lack of oxygen sets the fine vessels in his eyes to burst and repair in a rapid cycle. Those red, wet eyes plead with him, and he can only sneer in return at the baring of Wade’s purpling throat, like Wade could be any more submissive to him than he already is. “ _Please_...”

The torn skin on his back will already be well on the way to repairing itself, healing and pitting itself with fresh seeping lesions that have nothing to do with punishment, and Wade will never settle for some when he could have more.

It’s all Wade’s fault, he thinks furiously as he digs his fingers in hard enough to feel something crunch, blood welling under his fingers, clutching hard to the skin under his fingers and squeezing until the frustration leaks out between his knuckles. It’s Wade’s fault. Because Wade’s skin feels like it’s burning, always, imprinting on War’s back and hips and thighs as he futilely tries to cling. Because Wade doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean, doesn’t try to placate him, doesn’t make him feel like any more of a man even when he’s bucking under him and making strangled, incoherent noises like he’s drowning, they’re both drowning, and he can’t get enough air or enough of War. Because when it’s done, and his heart is still stuffed up somewhere in his throat, War knows Wade will beg him to stay for cuddles he hasn’t got time to indulge in, like they’re just two of a kind, two normal people living normal lives together.

He’s furious, thinking of that, as he finally releases one hand from Wade’s abused hips, wrapping strong fingers around Wade’s cock, stroking him with brutal efficiency. Wade’s struggle for air becomes that much more intense, hitching and hissing as he writhes. He lets Wade get close and then squeezes him tight, denying his orgasm right as it’s about to rip through him. Wade doesn’t need breath to make his displeasure known, fists clenching at empty air, eyes squeezing shut so tears track rapidly down his face.

War lets go of Wade’s dick and grabs him by the face, forcing him to crane his head up, shaking him roughly until he opens his eyes.

“Who do you belong to?”

Gagging, struggling to focus as War holds him tight and close, Wade’s eyes roll in overwhelmed pleasure, lost.

“Tell me, Wade,” War snaps, shaking him again, but otherwise not moving, giving him nothing. Wade shivers, struggling to collect himself as he weeps silently, licking his lips, craning his head to nuzzle against the palm of the hand gripping his face. He’s so touch starved and so on edge, it’s no wonder War can’t get him to focus.

He lets go of the telekinetic noose he’s had wound tightly around Wade’s neck, and Wade sucks in air like its the first breath he’s ever taken, shaken and sharp, followed by a hacking, raspy cough. The return of air is euphoric, War knows, but he drags Wade in, pulling him taunt against his restraints as he tries to settle his breathing into a rhythm. It’s hard not to thrust into the tight, welcoming heat of Wade’s ass, but he resists, arching over him so they’re almost in kissing distance.

“Wade...” a final warning, one he half expects to be ignored or met with some idiotic babble.

Instead, eyes finally focus on him, flicking over his face as Wade grins a bloody grin. “Yours,” he croaks, ridiculous gravely growl made weak and broken by his ruined throat. “Always yours, yours, yours.”

And it’s like a switch is flipped; the blood and meat that had been held up around them like gory banners falls around them in a cool, foul rain, painting them both in splashes of red and filling the room with a momentary cacophony of slapping flesh as it hits the floor. War’s hand releases Wade’s face, shoving him back prone as he pulls almost all the way out of him and then thrusts hard back home. Wade makes a ridiculous noise at that, some kind of growling whimper, hands flexing in and out of fists like he can find some kind of purchase in thin air.

“Gonna… close, so good, gonna… please Nate, _please_.”

It’s good to hear him begging, to see him debase himself so prettily for him. War can be merciful, when it suits him. Wrapping his hand around Wade’s cock again, he strokes him in lazy, loose motions that don’t at all match the eager, rapid thrusting of his hips.

When he comes, he fucks himself as deep as he can manage, making Wade utter a silvery high noise noise that’s almost a scream. He continues thrusting, slow and easy now, letting himself be milked dry as Wade comes in his hand. It’s not quite simultaneous, but it’s close enough to give War an old rush of satisfaction.

Relaxing against his bonds like being held aloft this way doesn’t hurt at all, Wade sighs in what can only be contentment as War pulls out of him and wipes the mess on his hand off on Wade’s bare chest.

“You ready to return to your room?” War asks, stroking Wade’s scalp in idle fondness. Wade nods dreamily, pauses, and then nods a little more vigorously.

“We could –”

“No cuddling,” War dismisses, using his telekinesis to let the chains fall away from Wade’s shackles all at once, dumping the man bodily onto the bloody floor, earning a sharp grunt of discomfort. “I’ve wasted enough time, and you’re still being punished.”

Wade scrambles to his feet, moving around the suspension cage and over to War’s side, sidling up close. “Oh, c’mon, You know there’s better ways to punish me...”

“Than isolating you and making you wait to feel me again? I think not, pet.”


End file.
